Joseph Andrews, by Henry Fielding

Chapter 5

A dreadful quarrel which happened at the Inn where the company dined, with its bloody consequences to
Mr Adams.

As soon as the passengers had alighted from the coach, Mr Adams, as was his custom, made directly to
the kitchen, where he found Joseph sitting by the fire, and the hostess anointing his leg; for the horse which Mr Adams
had borrowed of his clerk had so violent a propensity to kneeling, that one would have thought it had been his trade,
as well as his master’s; nor would he always give any notice of such his intention; he was often found on his knees
when the rider least expected it. This foible, however, was of no great inconvenience to the parson, who was accustomed
to it; and, as his legs almost touched the ground when he bestrode the beast, had but a little way to fall, and threw
himself forward on such occasions with so much dexterity that he never received any mischief; the horse and he
frequently rolling many paces’ distance, and afterwards both getting up and meeting as good friends as ever.

Poor Joseph, who had not been used to such kind of cattle, though an excellent horseman, did not so happily
disengage himself; but, falling with his leg under the beast, received a violent contusion, to which the good woman
was, as we have said, applying a warm hand, with some camphorated spirits, just at the time when the parson entered the
kitchen.

He had scarce expressed his concern for Joseph’s misfortune before the host likewise entered. He was by no means of
Mr Tow-wouse’s gentle disposition; and was, indeed, perfect master of his house, and everything in it but his
guests.

This surly fellow, who always proportioned his respect to the appearance of a traveller, from “God bless your
honour,” down to plain “Coming presently,” observing his wife on her knees to a footman, cried out, without considering
his circumstances, “What a pox is the woman about? why don’t you mind the company in the coach? Go and ask them what
they will have for dinner.” “My dear,” says she, “you know they can have nothing but what is at the fire, which will be
ready presently; and really the poor young man’s leg is very much bruised.” At which words she fell to chafing more
violently than before: the bell then happening to ring, he damn’d his wife, and bid her go in to the company, and not
stand rubbing there all day, for he did not believe the young fellow’s leg was so bad as he pretended; and if it was,
within twenty miles he would find a surgeon to cut it off. Upon these words, Adams fetched two strides across the room;
and snapping his fingers over his head, muttered aloud, He would excommunicate such a wretch for a farthing, for he
believed the devil had more humanity. These words occasioned a dialogue between Adams and the host, in which there were
two or three sharp replies, till Joseph bad the latter know how to behave himself to his betters. At which the host
(having first strictly surveyed Adams) scornfully repeating the word “betters,” flew into a rage, and, telling Joseph
he was as able to walk out of his house as he had been to walk into it, offered to lay violent hands on him; which
perceiving, Adams dealt him so sound a compliment over his face with his fist, that the blood immediately gushed out of
his nose in a stream. The host, being unwilling to be outdone in courtesy, especially by a person of Adams’s figure,
returned the favour with so much gratitude, that the parson’s nostrils began to look a little redder than usual. Upon
which he again assailed his antagonist, and with another stroke laid him sprawling on the floor.

The hostess, who was a better wife than so surly a husband deserved, seeing her husband all bloody and stretched
along, hastened presently to his assistance, or rather to revenge the blow, which, to all appearance, was the last he
would ever receive; when, lo! a pan full of hog’s blood, which unluckily stood on the dresser, presented itself first
to her hands. She seized it in her fury, and without any reflection, discharged it into the parson’s face; and with so
good an aim, that much the greater part first saluted his countenance, and trickled thence in so large a current down
to his beard, and over his garments, that a more horrible spectacle was hardly to be seen, or even imagined. All which
was perceived by Mrs Slipslop, who entered the kitchen at that instant. This good gentlewoman, not being of a temper so
extremely cool and patient as perhaps was required to ask many questions on this occasion, flew with great impetuosity
at the hostess’s cap, which, together with some of her hair, she plucked from her head in a moment, giving her, at the
same time, several hearty cuffs in the face; which by frequent practice on the inferior servants, she had learned an
excellent knack of delivering with a good grace. Poor Joseph could hardly rise from his chair; the parson was employed
in wiping the blood from his eyes, which had entirely blinded him; and the landlord was but just beginning to stir;
whilst Mrs Slipslop, holding down the landlady’s face with her left hand, made so dexterous an use of her right, that
the poor woman began to roar, in a key which alarmed all the company in the inn.

There happened to be in the inn, at this time, besides the ladies who arrived in the stage-coach, the two gentlemen
who were present at Mr Tow-wouse’s when Joseph was detained for his horse’s meat, and whom we have before mentioned to
have stopt at the alehouse with Adams. There was likewise a gentleman just returned from his travels to Italy; all whom
the horrid outcry of murder presently brought into the kitchen, where the several combatants were found in the postures
already described.

It was now no difficulty to put an end to the fray, the conquerors being satisfied with the vengeance they had
taken, and the conquered having no appetite to renew the fight. The principal figure, and which engaged the eyes of
all, was Adams, who was all over covered with blood, which the whole company concluded to be his own, and consequently
imagined him no longer for this world. But the host, who had now recovered from his blow, and was risen from the
ground, soon delivered them from this apprehension, by damning his wife for wasting the hog’s puddings, and telling her
all would have been very well if she had not intermeddled, like a b — as she was; adding, he was very glad the
gentlewoman had paid her, though not half what she deserved. The poor woman had indeed fared much the worst; having,
besides the unmerciful cuffs received, lost a quantity of hair, which Mrs Slipslop in triumph held in her left
hand.

The traveller, addressing himself to Mrs Grave-airs, desired her not to be frightened; for here had been only a
little boxing, which he said, to their disgracia, the English were accustomata to: adding, it must
be, however, a sight somewhat strange to him, who was just come from Italy; the Italians not being addicted to the
cuffardo but bastonza, says he. He then went up to Adams, and telling him he looked like the ghost of
Othello, bid him not shake his gory locks at him, for he could not say he did it. Adams very innocently answered, “Sir,
I am far from accusing you.” He then returned to the lady, and cried, “I find the bloody gentleman is uno insipido
del nullo senso. Dammato di me, if I have seen such a spectaculo in my way from Viterbo.”

One of the gentlemen having learnt from the host the occasion of this bustle, and being assured by him that Adams
had struck the first blow, whispered in his ear, “He’d warrant he would recover.” — “Recover! master,” said the host,
smiling: “yes, yes, I am not afraid of dying with a blow or two neither; I am not such a chicken as that.” — “Pugh!”
said the gentleman, “I mean you will recover damages in that action which, undoubtedly, you intend to bring, as soon as
a writ can be returned from London; for you look like a man of too much spirit and courage to suffer any one to beat
you without bringing your action against him: he must be a scandalous fellow indeed who would put up with a drubbing
whilst the law is open to revenge it; besides, he hath drawn blood from you, and spoiled your coat; and the jury will
give damages for that too. An excellent new coat upon my word; and now not worth a shilling! I don’t care,” continued
he, “to intermeddle in these cases; but you have a right to my evidence; and if I am sworn, I must speak the truth. I
saw you sprawling on the floor, and blood gushing from your nostrils. You may take your own opinion; but was I in your
circumstances, every drop of my blood should convey an ounce of gold into my pocket: remember I don’t advise you to go
to law; but if your jury were Christians, they must give swinging damages. That’s all.” — “Master,” cried the host,
scratching his head, “I have no stomach to law, I thank you. I have seen enough of that in the parish, where two of my
neighbours have been at law about a house, till they have both lawed themselves into a gaol.” At which words he turned
about, and began to inquire again after his hog’s puddings; nor would it probably have been a sufficient excuse for his
wife, that she spilt them in his defence, had not some awe of the company, especially of the Italian traveller, who was
a person of great dignity, withheld his rage.

Whilst one of the above-mentioned gentlemen was employed, as we have seen him, on the behalf of the landlord, the
other was no less hearty on the side of Mr Adams, whom he advised to bring his action immediately. He said the assault
of the wife was in law the assault of the husband, for they were but one person; and he was liable to pay damages,
which he said must be considerable, where so bloody a disposition appeared. Adams answered, If it was true that they
were but one person, he had assaulted the wife; for he was sorry to own he had struck the husband the first blow. “I am
sorry you own it too,” cries the gentleman; “for it could not possibly appear to the court; for here was no evidence
present but the lame man in the chair, whom I suppose to be your friend, and would consequently say nothing but what
made for you.” — “How, sir,” says Adams, “do you take me for a villain, who would prosecute revenge in cold blood, and
use unjustifiable means to obtain it? If you knew me, and my order, I should think you affronted both.” At the word
order, the gentleman stared (for he was too bloody to be of any modern order of knights); and, turning hastily about,
said, “Every man knew his own business.”

Matters being now composed, the company retired to their several apartments; the two gentlemen congratulating each
other on the success of their good offices in procuring a perfect reconciliation between the contending parties; and
the traveller went to his repast, crying, “As the Italian poet says —

‘Je voi very well que tutta e pace,

So send up dinner, good Boniface.’”

The coachman began now to grow importunate with his passengers, whose entrance into the coach was retarded by Miss
Grave-airs insisting, against the remonstrance of all the rest, that she would not admit a footman into the coach; for
poor Joseph was too lame to mount a horse. A young lady, who was, as it seems, an earl’s grand-daughter, begged it with
almost tears in her eyes. Mr Adams prayed, and Mrs Slipslop scolded; but all to no purpose. She said, “She would not
demean herself to ride with a footman: that there were waggons on the road: that if the master of the coach desired it,
she would pay for two places; but would suffer no such fellow to come in.” — “Madam,” says Slipslop, “I am sure no one
can refuse another coming into a stage-coach.” — “I don’t know, madam,” says the lady; “I am not much used to
stage-coaches; I seldom travel in them.” — “That may be, madam,” replied Slipslop; “very good people do; and some
people’s betters, for aught I know.” Miss Grave-airs said, “Some folks might sometimes give their tongues a liberty, to
some people that were their betters, which did not become them; for her part, she was not used to converse with
servants.” Slipslop returned, “Some people kept no servants to converse with; for her part, she thanked Heaven she
lived in a family where there were a great many, and had more under her own command than any paultry little gentlewoman
in the kingdom.” Miss Grave-airs cried, “She believed her mistress would not encourage such sauciness to her betters.”
— “My betters,” says Slipslop, “who is my betters, pray?” — “I am your betters,” answered Miss Grave-airs, “and I’ll
acquaint your mistress.” — At which Mrs Slipslop laughed aloud, and told her, “Her lady was one of the great gentry;
and such little paultry gentlewomen as some folks, who travelled in stagecoaches, would not easily come at her.”

This smart dialogue between some people and some folks was going on at the coach door when a solemn person, riding
into the inn, and seeing Miss Grave-airs, immediately accosted her with “Dear child, how do you?” She presently
answered, “O papa, I am glad you have overtaken me.” — “So am I,” answered he; “for one of our coaches is just at hand;
and, there being room for you in it, you shall go no farther in the stage unless you desire it.” — “How can you imagine
I should desire it?” says she; so, bidding Slipslop ride with her fellow, if she pleased, she took her father by the
hand, who was just alighted, and walked with him into a room.

Adams instantly asked the coachman, in a whisper, “If he knew who the gentleman was?” The coachman answered, “He was
now a gentleman, and kept his horse and man; but times are altered, master,” said be; “I remember when he was no better
born than myself.” — “Ay! ay!” says Adams. “My father drove the squire’s coach,” answered he, “when that very man rode
postillion; but he is now his steward; and a great gentleman.” Adams then snapped his fingers, and cried, “He thought
she was some such trollop.”

Adams made haste to acquaint Mrs Slipslop with this good news, as he imagined it; but it found a reception different
from what he expected. The prudent gentlewoman, who despised the anger of Miss Grave-airs whilst she conceived her the
daughter of a gentleman of small fortune, now she heard her alliance with the upper servants of a great family in her
neighbourhood, began to fear her interest with the mistress. She wished she had not carried the dispute so far, and
began to think of endeavouring to reconcile herself to the young lady before she left the inn; when, luckily, the scene
at London, which the reader can scarce have forgotten, presented itself to her mind, and comforted her with such
assurance, that she no longer apprehended any enemy with her mistress.

Everything being now adjusted, the company entered the coach, which was just on its departure, when one lady
recollected she had left her fan, a second her gloves, a third a snuff-box, and a fourth a smelling-bottle behind her;
to find all which occasioned some delay and much swearing to the coachman.

As soon as the coach had left the inn, the women all together fell to the character of Miss Grave-airs; whom one of
them declared she had suspected to be some low creature, from the beginning of their journey, and another affirmed she
had not even the looks of a gentlewoman: a third warranted she was no better than she should be; and, turning to the
lady who had related the story in the coach, said, “Did you ever hear, madam, anything so prudish as her remarks? Well,
deliver me from the censoriousness of such a prude.” The fourth added, “O madam! all these creatures are censorious;
but for my part, I wonder where the wretch was bred; indeed, I must own I have seldom conversed with these mean kind of
people, so that it may appear stranger to me; but to refuse the general desire of a whole company had something in it
so astonishing, that, for my part, I own I should hardly believe it if my own ears had not been witnesses to it.” —
“Yes, and so handsome a young fellow,” cries Slipslop; “the woman must have no compulsion in her: I believe she is more
of a Turk than a Christian; I am certain, if she had any Christian woman’s blood in her veins, the sight of such a
young fellow must have warmed it. Indeed, there are some wretched, miserable old objects, that turn one’s stomach; I
should not wonder if she had refused such a one; I am as nice as herself, and should have cared no more than herself
for the company of stinking old fellows; but, hold up thy head, Joseph, thou art none of those; and she who hath not
compulsion for thee is a Myhummetman, and I will maintain it.” This conversation made Joseph uneasy as well as the
ladies; who, perceiving the spirits which Mrs Slipslop was in (for indeed she was not a cup too low), began to fear the
consequence; one of them therefore desired the lady to conclude the story. “Aye, madam,” said Slipslop, “I beg your
ladyship to give us that story you commensated in the morning;” which request that well-bred woman immediately complied
with.